At the boundary of the Deku mountains, the gnarled trees succumbed to hardened grasslands. The steppes beyond still bore the outlines of the fields that had flourished under the Ginmae’s rule. Little remained but the plows abandoned on the earth in incomplete burials. After the Kogaloks’ harsh tenure, even Alize could search the barren waste and find no sustenance.

The first village she encountered rose from the landscape like a battered ship. Though the structures had survived, the surrounding wall had long ceased to provide protection for any inhabitants. It was pebbles and dust under Alize’s slippers.

As she moved between the houses, the same wind that pushed her away also twisted the Deku robe around her limbs. Stretched ahead of her, her shadow felt alien and amorphous in the white fabric. It could not hold its form. It followed her like Viken’s shadow, not her own.

All around Alize, contorted doors knocked open and shut in the wind with uneven tempos. The detritus from the outer environment had gotten trapped in the village, clumps of refuse shuddering collectively with each gale. The animals had long ago fled, and the Kogaloks had left no human bodies except, sometimes, little skeletons. They had no use taste for children’s soul or use for children’s bodies in their army, but those that were not quick to run became casualties all the same.

One house still stood, thought its entire structure leaned precariously west. Alize slipped through the doorframe. Inside the sunlight hassled the suspended dust, the only movement beyond Alize’s cautious steps. In every room the faded furniture leaned away from the walls and the house heaved with each gust.

Alize pried open drawers and closets, all full of rotten fabric that crumbled in her palms. She could not resist compulsively glancing behind her, haunted by both the silence and house’s protracted creaks. Even the sunlight seemed feeble and Alize felt more exposed than she had as the lone figure in the empty steppes. She prowled the rooms on tiptoes.

A cedar chest groaned as Alize opened it. A wave of musty air erupted from it but within Alize found an intact russet gown. The bodice squeezed her ribs, but the neckline covered the blackened mark etched above her heart. Her fingers flit over the new scar, and Alize forced her thoughts elsewhere. She cast the Deku robe on the floor only to pick it up again, struck by fear lest Viken find it.

Alize found some thick layers of felt and began tearing them into strips. Her period had started and she had no supplies. Under the garments, she found several pairs of sturdy boots and choose the one lined with animal hide mostly free of holes. She wrapped herself in a cloak of furs that clung to her hair and puffed around her face. For all the warm clothing, something inside her still felt frozen.

Turning to leave, Alize noticed a small doll lying face down on the floor. A child had lived in this house, had probably dropped this doll nearly two decades earlier. Where is she now? Alize wondered. She pried the doll from the splinters that dug into to the fabric and flipped the stiff figure in her hands.

The face was ripped open, spilling the yellowed grainy stuffing through its burst lips. One beaded eye dangled from a loose thread.

Then the front door slammed so hard it rocked off its hinge.

Alize bolted into the shadows, her knees weak and her heart hammering. Cold sweat collected on her back to seep into her dusty gown. The Deku would not make such noise, she repeated inwardly, and the Kogaloks have no reason to seek the living here. Still, the sun sank low in the horizon before she could convince herself it was only the wind.

Outside once again, Alize pressed on while the clouds gathered purple behind her. By foot, the closest Hrumi assembly point was a six day journey to the south.

On the steppes, the wind brought hunger, but there was little to scavenge this time of year. Alize stayed off the roads and kept her eyes to the sky, wary of Deku falcons. As she approached the Parousia province, the wildness of the landscape began to fade. She passed abandoned roads and delapitaded settlements. The road was no longer icy. The wet air meant Alize’s felt clothes no longer dried overnight, but the extra time by the fire in the morning was a small price to pay for the warmer weather as she descended from the Ginmae plateau. The light seemed clearer too.

Each step put more distance between Alize and the Deku, though on the fourth day she recast her danger by traveling on a government road. There was little help for it, as she now played the part of a willow woman.

Alize nearly fled the first time she saw a Parousian Sargon, but he paid little heed to a single traveler wrapped tightly in the furs of her cloak. Soon more Sargons appeared and Alize began to feel their keen gaze. They wore cloth armor and helmets made of smooth iron with a window for their eyes and a slit from their forehead to throat. The livery left them nearly as faceless as the Deku and made them homogenous in their grunts and blank eyes. All Sargons wore the helmets, thousands of men with only one face. Even at the Temple, Davram and Kell had never dressed as Sargons.

“Halt in the name of Prince Icar!” A Sargon called at the dawn crossroad. Alize hesitated. She observed the woman ahead of her on the road turn to the Sargon and clasp her hands behind her, demure under the Sargon’s scrutiny.

Alize weighed her options. He was only one man, after all. Here he did not carry the power of the prince. He was only as strong as his will and his armor.

Relentless training in the Hrumi camps had taught Alize all his weaknesses and how to exploit them. She would find gaps in his armor at his neck and under his shoulder. But she had no weapon, and nor had he any reason to suspect her disguise concealed a Hrumi. In all likelihood, his demands would prove mundane.

If not, she had not surrendered any advantages.

Her decision made, Alize stopped where she stood and hunched her own shoulders to mimic the other traveler’s meekness. She could see the Sargon’s boots approaching. The metal crushed the gravel underneath, the sound scraping at her ears. All the Sargons’ strengths were meant as weapons against her and her sisters. Alize could not resist clenching her fists.

“You resent us, girl?”

Alize shook her head. She would indulge him, for the moment.

“Girls have no business traveling alone.”

Alize heard his pointed condescension. She drew a sharp breath, intending to correct him.

“Not alone,” the woman beside her interjected, “we journey together to Parousia.”

Alize faltered, recognizing the simple elegance of her fellow traveler’s intervention. From Alize’s suppliant stance, she saw only the woman’s worn leather shoes.

The Sargon spoke, “Then you must understand that your presence in Parousia is at the will of Prince Icar and that I am his agent?”

“We too support Prince Icar, the most noble of the three brothers,” the woman responded quickly.

“Yes, Prince Icar,” Alize repeated. She feared too much strength in her voice would reveal her confusion rather than any enthusiasm.

“Then you should greet us as friends,” The Sargon droned with false amity, “You’re acting impudent as a Hrumi and you know how we handle those beast-women.”

Alize shuddered. Before she could react, the woman spoke again, “We apologize for the disrespect, my liege.”

Alize watched the Sargon reposition his feet to face her. “She must be taught how to address a Sargon,” he said.

“Thank you for the wisdom of your counsel. I promise it will be done,” the woman mumbled obsequiously.

“She can start now by apologizing to me.”

The forests’ silence lasted a moment too long while Alize again weighed her options. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. It came out flatter than she intended.

The silence stretched. Then the Sargon issued his next command. “Look at me.”

Alize jerked her gaze upwards. There was nothing to see of the Sargons face, only his helmet to glower at her.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“You’re sorry for what?” The Sargon growled.

Alize focused her eyes on the trees behind him. She owed her respect to the forest, not to some self-righteous man who hid his face and his crimes from the daylight. But she had lost the voices of the trees. She let that sorrow soak through her. It made her subterfuge easier. “I’m sorry for disrespecting you, my liege.”

The Sargon’s metal gaze lingered. “Better,” he barked, “You watch your attitude next time or I won’t fault the Sargon who detains you.”

As he withdrew from Alize, the woman next to her turned, holding out her hands and then wrapping Alize her in her arms. “Honey, you’re safe now,” she cooed, “It’s okay to cry.”

Alize stiffened. “I am not crying.”

“You better try then,” the woman whispered back. This second tone, firm and pragmatic, rang completely counter to her initial coddling.

Alize finally understood the exercise. She endeavored to whimper and after a moment, she sank into the warmth of the woman’s embrace. It was such a small favor, yet it was the first anyone had done for her in a long time, save for Iedaja. Soon the Sargon’s footsteps receded.

Hesitantly Alize raised her head to regard the woman. The traveler gave her a warm smile as she released Alize. She was perhaps a few years old than Sosje. She bound her hair against her neck and the brown wisps flying in every direction gave her face softness. She wore men’s traveling clothing, though apparently not as an effort to conceal her gender. Alize had never heard of willow women dressing in trousers. She mentally added the fact to the long list of surprises she had encountered since beginning her ventures into the government orbits.

“Best to keep your head down when you encounter a Sargon,” the woman advised, “they just want a little respect for all the work they’re doing to protect us.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Alize stammered.

“Don’t mention it,” the woman began walking, gesturing for Alize to accompany her. “We can forgive the Sargons for being tense these days. No one knows Prince Nadar’s next move against them and Prince Icar. I’d act bullish under the circumstances too. So when you get in a Sargon’s way, just say to yourself, Rehsan grant me the strength to feign weakness.”

“Ha ha.” Alize did not recognize the name Icar. Jorin was Parousia ruling prince, that much she knew. He had a son named Nadar. And another named Tamer, whom Alize had met personally. Alize cringed at the memory. Tamer had tried to expose her as a Hrumi before the entire court.

Alize kept pace with her companion. “A prince would attack Sargons?”

“He’ll attack any servant of his brothers’.”

Alize swallowed. Her questions seemed to trouble her companion, and she wanted to avoid that. Rehsan grant me the discipline to feign comprehension. Princes only gathered armies against each other if there was a war of succession. Was Jorin not still on the throne?

Prince Jorin had tasked Kell with making peace with the Hrumi, creating an unsettling choice for the clans. And the interim Western clan leader Essa had not spurned it.

But surely a new prince would mean new options. Or fewer options.

“Does Prince Icar control all the Sargons?” Alize asked.

“They are bound to protect the capital city, and Icar controls Parousia. I hear even the servants left, but of course the Sargons stayed. And I want to know who is doing the dishes.”

Alize tried to laugh with the woman’s bright grin, but her mind was reeling. Then Kell and Davram would be embroiled in the princes’ war.

“My name is Qaaru,” The woman stretched out her hand and when Alize grasped it, her skin was warm and rough. “We can share the road while our paths overlap.”

Alize was recalculating her understanding of her choices. Such a companion could help her navigate the province’s roads, and those would provide faster travel to the Hrumi assembly point.

But Alize could hear Iedaja’s sad refrain. Poor little mouse. Always placing your trust in the wrong people. Viken had been vocal and less sympathetic in his agreement.

Alize tried to discount the anxiety. How much harm could a single woman bring her, a Hrumi?

She drew a deep breath. “I’m Alize.”

“Alize. Alize the Antagonizer of Sargons,” Qaaru grinned, “They’re really not so bad. And they mean well.”

“Apparently I have a lot to learn.” Beyond being hunted in the forest, Alize had two experiences with Sargons: the man she had just encountered, and Davram and Kell. She did not yet know which constituted the norm and the exception to Sargon behavior. Over any judgment loomed the Hrumi stories. They painted the Sargons as soultrussing monsters, imprisoning Hrumi souls so their princes might live forever. As the Deku did to the Ginmae. Alize shuddered to think of doorways adorned with Hrumi souls.

“Anyway, we must pick our battles. It’s usually best to humor the people holding the swords, I always say,” Qaaru chuckled.

Alize sighed. “I’ve never had to choose whether to respect myself or not.”

“Nocturne, you really do sound like a Hrumi.”Qaaru said.

“At least a Hrumi would never tolerate such behavior from a Sargon.”

“No, of course not.” Qaaru’s voice turned sharp. “A Hrumi would slit his throat and use his carcass for a water skin.”

Alize choked on her breath. That was what monsters did, not her Hrumi sisters. Unlike their enemies, they never debased themselves with senseless carnage. “That’s grotesque.”

“I know. They do such terrible things.”

“Stealing children hardly compares to murder.” Alize resisted gritting her teeth while she spoke. She knew her sisters did not steal children, but she also knew that this falsehood was the foundation of the province’s characterizations of the Hrumi clans. If she wanted to continue the conversation, she would have to speak Qaaru’s language.

Qaaru scoffed, “The Hrumi are as demented as the Kogaloks and just as dangerous because they will never relent: they cannot survive without tormenting the people.”

Alize could feel her skin growing hot. “I hear claim they fight only to protect themselves.”

“Who dares spread such stories?! It disgusts me, those people that pity them, and keep promising their humanity! They are unhinged! We can’t romanticize the danger they pose if we are to truly deal with them!”

“Deal with them?” Alize repeated. She dreaded Qaaru’s words. She wanted to prove Viken wrong. Because, for a moment, she had believed this woman worthy of her trust.

“Of course,” Qaaru answered, “A man is not brave for revealing the river is dirty, his is brave for doing what is necessary to clean it. Prince Icar, he holds the Hrumi in Parousia – and now he must clean the river. No one shall ever suffer at their hands again.”

Alize nearly gagged. All her time in the citadel, this fate hung over her sisters? The Hrumi imprisoned in Parousia, kept alive by the whims of a prince? Still washed in horror, Alize accepted two things: she could not trust Qaaru, and she needed her. Qaaru had already accepted Alize as a willow woman, and that marked an enormous advantage for Alize. As long as Qaaru suspected nothing of her true identity.

Alize grasped at any other subject. “Did they fight at the Temple Battle? The details have been so unclear.”

Qaaru wiped her brow where sweat had pearled while she spoke of the Hrumi. She seemed reluctant to change the conversation’s direction.

“The important ones are clear enough. It was a slaughter. But the Priestess, at the last moment, she called forth the echoes with a very old magic, called them even from the Kogaloks, and she cast them back to the living. The armies prevailed, and the Kogaloks retreated to the Ginmae plateau.”

“The Priestess called the echoes?” Alize repeated. This was wrong: Alize had watched the Priestess’ die that night. It was Alize’s body that had assembled the echoes. Against her will and without her control. The memory was thick with panic.

“Yes the Priestess,” Qaaru confirmed, “No one realized she had that much power still. Bittersweet though, because the process killed her. After the battle finally died down, they found three bodies in the Temple – hers, a Mage’s and a Sargon’s.”

Alize fingers flew to the black scar on her chest. Underneath it, her heart broke. The Mage Onder had saved her that night in the Temple, augmenting her wild magic with his own. And Alize remembered Davram’s last words about Onder. Not that he had died, but that he could no longer help Alize. At the time she had assumed him too tired, or needing to focus his attention elsewhere. But Davram’s words implied that nothing but death could have stayed his hand. Alize bent her head. Only in Onder’s death could Alize truly recognize the friend he had been to her.

Even as Alize blinked her eyes with sorrow for Onder, part of her prodded further into Qaaru’s words. A Sargon was the third casualty. Her ignorance was almost a blessing, letting Davram and Kell both survive in Alize’s mind.

“A strange day,” Qaaru continued, “to have a Mage join the fray. He dishonored his creed but he and Omurtak and the Priestess saved the Holds from the Kogaloks that night.”

“Omurtak?” Hope seared Alize. Omurtak too, had been a Sargon, long ago. Would the evidence of his soul’s corruption be visible on his corpse? Could both Davram and Kell have survived?

“Yes – the Sargon,” Qaaru confirmed. “The very same who defeated Arouah. A true hero, twice over, saving this land. This time he gave his life.”

Within the span of a heartbeat, Alize moved from relieved for her Kell and Davram’s reprieve to chastising herself for focusing on them. She would do well to remember that her concern lay with her sisters, not with any Sargons. Her sisters were imprisoned and the Sargons were to blame.

Qaaru too was thinking of the Hrumi. “Both Hrumi clans also assembled at the Temple, together, can you believe the audacity? Right under the noses of all the rulers? During the battle, the Hrumi fought next to the Parousia army, so you can imagine how that unfolded.”

Alize regarded her companion, praying her face did not betray her deep distress. She asked as innocuously as she could, “How?”

Qaaru snorted. “How do you think? The Hrumi killed Prince Jorin the first chance they had!”

Alize jolted. Prince Jorin was dead, that explained the war of succession that she belatedly understood. But it could not have been her sisters, they had no mandate to kill a prince.

“And then,” Qaaru continued, “the Parousia army opened two fronts, one against the Kogaloks and one against the Hrumi. A bloodbath! The army lost so many men, it will prolongue the princes’ war.”

Alize barely heard her. She imagined her sisters, betrayed on the battlefield. What role had Kell played? Alize shook. Prince Icar holds the Hrumi, Qaaru had said. But how many, and in what condition? And all this time, Alize had been unaware, sitting in the Deku citadel while her sisters needed her. She could never forgive Viken for that. Alize closed her eyes and waited for the anguish to subside so she could think.

Qaaru continued with the same exasperated tone. She had not noticed the world crashing down on Alize. “At least Jorin only had four sons. Thaver is already dead – both Icar and Nadar claimed credit for it. Icar has the Sargons guarding the roads, and Parousia is alleged to be the safest place in the province. Nadar has all his father’s ministers and is in Venin. And Tamer, well, everyone’s just impressed Tamer’s still alive.”

Her words barely registered. “Did you say,” Alize stammered, “the Hrumi are in Parousia?”

“Icar ordered all the captured beast-women imprisoned after the Temple battle.” Qaaru’s voice grew cold and suddenly her vehemence overcame her fatigue, “they’re rotting to death in their own filth. Soon we may be rid of them forever. For that Icar has my loyalty.” As she spoke, they halted at a crossroads. “Here we are,” Qaaru pointed. “Parousia lies south.”

“Didn’t I mention,” Alize murmured, “I’m going to Parousia too.”